Monday, October 31, 2016

The rise and rise of control-freak government

(This is a slightly extended version of a column first published in The Dominion Post, October 28.)

The ancient Greeks left us several words describing various
forms of government: democracy, autocracy and oligarchy, to give just three
examples.

But there was one omission, probably because it describes a
type of administration that the Greeks never envisaged. For want of a better
term, I’ll call it control-freak government.

This is a form of government in which policy-makers,
politicians and bureaucrats constantly devise new ways of controlling our
behaviour on the pretext that they have to protect us from our own foolishness.
Perhaps we could call it a bullyocracy.

Control-freak government is based on the supposition that
we’re all basically incapable of making our own responsible decisions. We need
paternalistic minders and a suffocating regulatory regime to stop us from
getting into trouble.

This busybody culture pervades our lives slowly and insidiously,
eventually reaching the point where we become so accustomed to it that we
assume it’s the natural order of things and accept restrictions on what we can
do without a murmur of complaint.

One tiny example: Small-scale cheesemaker Biddy
Fraser-Davies recently protested that at least half the $40,000 annual income
from her four jersey cows gets swallowed up by government fees.

Fraser-Davies, who farms near Eketahuna, has been hounded
for years by food safety officers from the Ministry for Primary Industries.
This, incidentally, is the same government department that turns a blind eye to
the large-scale, illegal dumping of fish.

Elderly women (Fraser-Davies is 74) are clearly a much more
tempting target than big, hairy fishing companies . She says she was recently
billed $10,000 for testing 10 of her cheeses and calculates the cost comes to
$240 per kilo.

On radio recently, she recalled that after she featured on Country Calendar in 2009, the Food
Safety Authority pounced within minutes because it had no record of her having filed
a risk management plan. I suppose we should be impressed by the authority’s
24/7 vigilance (it was a Saturday night, after all), but this suggests an
almost obsessive level of control-freakery.

To my knowledge no one ever fell sick or died from eating Fraser-Davies’
cheeses, unless she’s buried the bodies somewhere on her farm. Perhaps the MPI should send some men to start
digging the place up.

To her credit, she refuses to be cowed by the public-sector commissars.
This sets her apart from most timid New Zealand business owners, who keep their
heads down and meekly comply. Presumably, getting offside with the enforcers is
more trouble than it’s worth.

The MPI justifies its cheese-testing regime because there’s
a theoretical risk of harmful pathogens. Eliminating risk can be used to
justify all manner of bureaucratic meddling. It’s all part of the grand mission
to create a perfect world where Nanny State keeps us all safe.

A priceless example was the edict that went out years ago
forbidding brass bands from playing on the backs of trucks. I must have missed
the news reports about hapless tuba players toppling from truck decks and being
crushed under the wheels while playing God
Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen in Christmas parades.

Perhaps I also missed hearing the anguished cries of
builders and roofers plummeting from house rooftops. There must have been an
epidemic of such deaths to justify the requirement that safety scaffolding now
be erected around the roofs of houses under construction.

I'm told even chimney sweepers are now saying they can’t work without
protective scaffolding, which can bump up the cost of the job from $200 to
$1000.

It goes without saying there’s an element of risk in many
undertakings. The crucial consideration should surely be whether the action
taken to minimise risk is proportionate – or, to put it another way, whether
the cost of trying to eliminate risk far outweighs any possible benefit.

Compulsory scaffolding around rooftops may have averted a
few broken limbs, but at what cost to house owners and home buyers?

The police, too, have been captured by a control-freak
mentality. Just look at their heavy-handed enforcement of liquor controls.

Wellington Police have an “alcohol harm reduction officer” (how
Big Brother is that?) who gives the impression of being on a moral crusade. And
while police numbers are stretched and burglars are able to strike with
apparent impunity, there always seem to be enough officers to operate
drink-drive checkpoints in the hope of nabbing some harmless mug who’s
unwittingly had one glass of sauvignon blanc too many.

It’s another case of low-hanging fruit. Burglars are hard to
catch; women on the way home from bowls, not so much.

Speaking of which, I wrote a column in this space roughly a
year ago criticising the lower drink-drive limits introduced in 2014, which I
predicted would catch out responsible, otherwise law-abiding people while
hard-core recidivist drunk drivers would continue to behave as they always had.

I also said I would quite likely get pinged myself, since
the new limits had made it much harder to judge when you were at risk of
breaking the law.

My column attracted a pompous response from an overpaid
poo-bah in the New Zealand Transport Agency. He wrote that there was no such
thing as safe drink-driving, thus confirming what I’d suspected: that the
objective of the law change was to deter us from drinking altogether.

But here’s the thing: road deaths have increased since
drink-drive limits were lowered, from 293 in 2014 to 319 in 2015 and 263 so far
this year compared with 253 at this time last year.

It’s a crude measure, admittedly, but it reminds us of what
the economist Milton Friedman said about the folly of judging things by their
intentions rather than their results.

Of course a few more country pubs have gone out of business
in the meantime, because the people who previously socialised in them are terrified
of having one too many and getting caught.

But why should the city-dwelling bureaucrats worry? They never drank in them anyway. And if they
go one over the limit at a fashionable Thorndon café, they can just call a cab.
Theirs is a different world from the one inhabited by the people whose lives
they seek to control.

About Me

I am a freelance journalist and columnist living in the Wairarapa region of New Zealand. In the presence of Greenies I like to boast that I walk to work each day - I've paced it out and it's about 15 metres. I write about all sorts of stuff: politics, the media, music, wine, films, cycling and anything else that piques my interest - even sport, though I admit I don't have the intuitive understanding of sport that most New Zealand males absorb as if by osmosis. I'm a former musician (bass and guitar) with a lifelong love of music that led me to write my book 'A Road Tour of American Song Titles: From Mendocino to Memphis', published by Bateman NZ in July 2016. I've been in journalism for more than 40 years and like many journalists I know a little bit about a lot of things and probably not enough about anything. I have never won any journalism awards.